And the Rain Framed Her Face in the Way that Fire Does a Candle

The night was still, calm. The trees that adorned the exterior of the Nohrian castle allowed their leaves to drift lazily in the chilly autumn air. The sky was the shade of pitch, save for the hopeful stars cast over rivaling nations.

It was here on this night, in Nohr, that Leo began to feel himself sink into a whirlpool of longing and loneliness. He missed her more than the clouds missed the sun as it set, more than little Elise missed her favorite plush pegasus the night it vanished.

It had only been days since his sister - no, not his sister - that was too former a word to call her - walked into the neighboring kingdom of Hoshido. He hadn't left his room since then, telling his retainers that he was feeling unwell; though they may have thought it in a literal sense, Leo had felt nothing but mental pain since Kamui had left.

He lay in his bed, tracing his thumb and forefinger over a stray hair that fell soundlessly in front of his face. He hadn't slept, not a wink. He couldn't, knowing he wouldn't wake up to the gentle laughter of Kamui's voice as she passed by his room, every morning.

Every morning, he thought, would never happen again.

The only noises that passed through his ears were the lazy slapping of trees against his chamber window and his isolated sighs - everything else was silent. Anything that could make sound didn't. Anything that could bring him closer to his missing sister was lifeless that night. And Leo hated it, despised it.

He wasn't aware of his actions until his feet were moving him aimlessly to his escape. The moment he reached the library, Leo sank to his knees, his table in plain sight. Kamui always used to prod him here, begging him to teach her about ancient tactics. It took months before he had agreed, and even less time before she was gone. Oh, how he wished he had agreed sooner, had let her intrude. Perhaps, if he had become close enough to her, she might have stayed.

This table was not how Leo remembered it. Though its edges were still carved in with intricate details he had come to memorize, it felt empty, large, without her sitting beside him. Leo ghosted his fingers over where she would sit. He could see it clearly in his mind - her arms crossed in front of her on the wood, sitting proudly straight like a proper student. There were nights, recently, when she would break the façade in front of him, nights when her hair was in disarray and her eyes were visited by a deep gray, when she slouched and propped her chin on her hand to listen - she was always listening. Listening, even then, when something was too obviously troubling her.

So why then, Leo wondered, did she not listen when he told her to stay, never to go?

The books stacked on top of the small table were on the ground in one fell swipe, and Leo's mind could not register the crash of the pages as their spines broke against the floor. It could not register the low clap of thunder that pounded from outside the castle, no. Leo's mind could only register the gasped echoes of his screams reverberating off the walls of the library, a desperate cry of her name falling off his lips as if it were how he chose to breathe.

"Leo?"

The boy stopped in his tracks. He knew that voice - memorized it, even, so well that he would hear it a thousand years later and know exactly whose it was. His legs had never moved faster than that night, when he dashed around a tall bookshelf and instantly fell to his knees.

It was her - Kamui. There, in front of him, dressed in red silk. "Leo," she spoke quietly. If it weren't for the darkness of the library, the solitary candlelight on the wall, he might have seen the dark circles under her eyes, the weakness of her stature. But here, a meter away from her, Leo could only hear every word she said with impeccable clearness.

"You came back," the prince whispered, finally finding the strength in his knees to stand up and embrace her. She nodded into his neck, gripping his nightshirt at the collar with no intention of letting go.